It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. Giles! "Devil seize the woman!" growled the singer, as he brought his ditty to a close; "will nothing tempt her out? Widow Sheppard, I say," he added, rising, "don't be afraid. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. It’s not a bit of good pretending there’s any Higher Truth or wonderful principle in this business. When she judged that she must be nearly back at the library, she began to feel somewhat dispirited. CHAPTER XIII.
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